


Cleanse the Waters

by li_izumi, ThePlaidFox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Aquaphobia, Big Bang Challenge, Canon Temporary Character Death, Coda, Dean's man pain, Dramatic use of dramatic irony, Episode: s07e02 Hello Cruel World, Episode: s07e17 The Born-Again Identity, Episode: s09e03 I'm No Angel, Episode: s09e06 Heaven Can't Wait, Episode: s09e10 Road Trip, Episode: s10e21 Dark Dynasty, Episode: s11e18 Hell's Angel, Episode: s13e04 The Big Empty, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Outsider, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Supernatural Canon Big Bang 2019, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, because canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 17:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19728298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/li_izumi/pseuds/li_izumi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePlaidFox/pseuds/ThePlaidFox
Summary: Castiel’s multitude of sins haunt him in ways all too human, but water cannot cleanse him when he is drowning in his own guilt. Over the years, he’s tried to ignore his fear--after all, no one needs a broken angel--but he keeps failing and needing to be saved by those he should be saving. If Castiel is ever to be absolved, he must overcome his fear and walk into the water alone.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> First I want to thank my amazing artist, [ThePlaidFox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePlaidFox/pseuds/ThePlaidFox), for your amazing art. I am just stunned and in awe of how many gorgeous watercolor paintings you created for my story. I cannot express enough how thrilled and excited I have been to work with you on this project!  
> Please check out her [masterpost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19638640) for the art.
> 
> I'd also like to thank my editor, [Ria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaZendira/pseuds/RiaZendira) for all your time that you spent with me going over every word and line. My works are always improved from your insight.
> 
> And lastly, thank you to [Pherryt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pherryt/pseuds/Pherryt) for encouraging me to write the fic that I wanted to read but couldn't find.

_“_ _The Lord was Baptized, not to be cleansed Himself, but to cleanse the waters, so that those waters, cleansed by the flesh of Christ which knew no sin, might have the power of Baptism.”_ ([Ambrose](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ambrose))

_“No one can begin a new life, unless he repent of the old.” (_ [ _st. augustine_ ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Augustine_of_Hippo) _)_

**I. Prelude**

Black ooze clung to him, dragging him down.

It wiggled under his skin like eels crowded in a too small tank, splashing out pieces of himself to sink into the dirt, poisoning the ground with every drop.

Across every one of his multidimensions, not a speck of his being was free from their taint. How could he have missed how far the corruption had spread? How dim his light had grown?

The sharp metallic rustle of chain link was followed by the squeak of the gate hinges. The strings paraded him out and away. Away from his life.

The cold seeped up from his feet, slowly climbing his legs.

His steps were unbalanced and sluggish. The strings were uneven. Mud clutched at the soles of his shoes, an in-vain attempt to hold him in place.

_“I will find some way to redeem myself to you.”_

A lie. There would be no way, not now. A marionette was moved; it did not move itself.

He did it to save the world. No. He did it for Dean. Always for Dean. But that was also a lie.

He did it because he thought he could be the hero for once. That he was special. Chosen.

Pride was always the first sin.

The cold clung to his waist, to his chest.

His arms reached upwards, but he was pulled in. Further. Deeper. Then over.

He didn’t need to breathe; he couldn’t breathe. His mouth opened in a silent scream but since the sound couldn’t go out, it all came rushing down.

The strings were dropped and, without them to hold him together, the seams unraveled. Pieces broke off and drifted away. A milenia of self forgotten.

No, not that piece, anything but that memory!

Sunlight across a leather seat, the scent of gunpowder and oil, the hiss of empty tape, and above all else, green like sun-kissed grass in the golden light of dawn...

And even that was gone.


	2. Meg

  1. **Meg**



The demon known as Meg blew a bubble with her gum and flipped a page in the magazine she was reading. Babysitting comatose angels might be easy, but it was also boring. The hardest part--other than dealing with a certain hunter’s entirely too frequent check-in calls—was making sure the human orderlies around the ward didn’t notice her patient’s lack of eating, sleeping, and shitting.

It had been a risk to involve herself with Castiel. He could burn her out of existence with the simplest of touches, and she couldn’t be sure which version of him she was dealing with: the being who threw her onto holy fire so he could cross the flames, like the first time she met him, or the one who was willing to work with demons to face a greater threat. Of course, it had been her mistake to not realize Castiel had _already_ teamed up with a demon when she tried to partner with him. He’d chosen to work _with_ Crowley instead of _against_ him. Still, after their little break up, Castiel was now on the run from both Heaven and Hell. Meg thought her odds were good that he’d be willing to play ball with _her_ now, considering Crowley was as much a risk to Castiel now as he was to her.

That was, of course, assuming the angel would recover his wits at some point, which, as the days passed by, was starting to feel unlikely. Just her luck—she finally had a weapon powerful enough to keep Crowley off her back, after weeks of keeping watch over him as a useless, amnesiac faith healer, and now that he was powered up again, the angel goes and fries his brains for the Winchesters.

Those boys really needed to take better care of their toys.

At least for now, he was off at the showers—not that he had any need, being an angel, al-be-it a comatose one, but he’d been in the asylum for a week, so human sensibilities dictated he ought to get cleaned up. Castiel had been taken down the hall by the male orderly with all the awareness of a block of cement. Useless.

The hair on the back of her neck rose. The lights flickered.

“Oh, shi—”

She’d barely jumped to her feet when the power blew out.

The entire hospital was dark, and from how strong the scent of ozone around her was, she suspected most of the block was out, too. Even the emergency backup generator was blown.

There was only one being here who could cause a power surge like that.

Had Crowley found them? Or even worse, Heaven? Shit. Maybe she should leave before whatever it was found _her_.

No, she had invested too much time to get close to the angel to abandon him without confirming the situation had become too hot to handle anymore.

Voices of confusion and alarm greeted her in the hallway. Unlike the humans stumbling about in the dark, her eyes could see perfectly. She brushed past them and aimed straight for the showers.

She found him there, shaking and hunched in a ball, his arms crossed tightly against his chest and his breath quick to the point of hyperventilating. The orderly who’d taken him to the shower was collapsed across the room, unconscious.

What could have set Castiel off like this? There was nothing around them. Fuck, was he going to randomly go off for no reason now? The only thing worse than a weapon that wouldn’t fire when needed was one that would _misfire_ when not needed. Maybe it was worth angering the Winchesters by abandoning this mess before she got pulled too far into the danger she was trying to avoid.

It was something to consider. For now, however, she needed to drag the cowering angel of the lord out of the shower before the human woke up and decided the freakishly strong patient needed to be tied down and watched more closely.

It took all of her own inhuman strength to manhandle the angel to his feet. She didn’t much care for the idea of getting soaked as she led him through the water pouring out of the broken shower head, but it was the quickest route to the exit and moving Castiel was a challenge enough already.

As soon as the water hit him, Castiel went supernova; his eyes glowed blue and the air crackled with his holy power.

Meg shoved Castiel away from her, trying to get some distance between herself and the angel who could burn her out of existence. She scrambled into a defensive crouch and wished she had a weapon on hand. Not that anything but an angel blade would so much as slow him down, let alone kill him, but she wouldn’t feel so useless if she had at least _something_ in her hand.

Castiel _crumbled_.

He shut down, resuming his previous stance of hunched up and shaking.

What… What was _that_ about?!

Following a hunch, she splashed water at Castiel. He collapsed into himself further, his breath ragged as he hyperventilated.

So. Water.

The great big, terrifying angel of the lord, one-time God, scourge of Heaven and Hell alike, was having a complete meltdown over a little splash of water.

Well now. _That_ was an interesting bit of information she was sure she could find some way to use to keep her angelic weapon in line…

For now, she needed to get Castiel back to his room—avoiding the spray of water this time. Like his lack of sleeping, eating, and shitting, she would now need to add ‘avoiding showers’ to her list of things about her patient to keep hidden from the humans.

What a pain in her ass. Castiel had better be worth this effort. There was no way she wanted to die at Crowley’s hands for some pathetic angel.


	3. Steve

**III. Steve**

Steve had seen all sorts out on the street. The sick, who’s insurance wouldn’t cover whatever they had. The healthy, who just had a string of bad luck. The mentally ill, who couldn’t take care of themselves. The service men and women, who had given their lives for country but when they hadn’t died, were abandoned by those they’d protected. The children, thrown out for not being what their parents wanted. Those born poor, who could never get a break. The ones who slipped through the cracks…

Clarence, though… Clarence was something else. He didn’t fit in any of the types Steve had seen before. Too clean, too healthy to have been on the streets for long, and he’d had no clue what panhandling _was_ , let alone how to do it. But on the other hand, he didn’t fit in with the normal society sorts. He knew off the top of his head how many bones there were in a human body, but he didn’t know what hiccups were, and he needed help to figure out how to blow his nose. It was like he’d formed days ago as a fully-grown man.

And maybe he had. Even the meteorologists didn’t know what to make of the big meteor show a few weeks back. And not saying Clarence was one, but if he was, and all the aliens were like him, then they were a-okay as far as Steve was concerned.

Steve had found Clarence walking down the street a block or so down from the bus station, wandering in the way of one who not only doesn’t know where they’re going, but has absolutely no idea where they _want_ to go. Every few feet he’d glance warily behind him at the dark clouds moving in from the west.

Not that there was much to sightsee around the town, but having grown up in Lafayette, Steve knew the town like the back of his hand. He’d figured he could point this lost lamb to whatever direction he needed to go and maybe get a few coins out of it for his trouble. He hadn’t gotten anything for directing Clarence to the nearest Biggerson’s, but the lack of tip had been explained when, later in the day, Steve saw Clarence again, hunched under an overhang down a side street and it became clear that Clarence was like Steve. Someone who had no place to go.

Discovering his lost lamb was even more lost than he’d thought, there’d only been one thing for Steve to do: pick up a couple cheap sandwiches and go meet his new street neighbor. But the more he’d learned about Clarence, the less he understood him. Clarence had straight-up denied being an alien, but he’d been pretty cagey about where he was from, and pretty much everything else about himself to boot.

Still, all in all, it’d been a pretty nice way to spend the afternoon. Even when the skies had opened up a few minutes earlier, they were at least under an awning that kept most of the rain off them, and Clarence was letting Steve sit in the middle where he was less likely to get splashed or dripped on, so Clarence really was an a-okay kind of guy, even if he might be an alien.

After about five minutes of bucket-dumping downpour, the water that had been gathering in the corner of the awning finally built up enough for it to spill over, sending a cascade of water on top of the unfortunate Clarence. At first Steve thought Clarence was just shaking from the cold of his sudden drenching, but Steve had seen enough veterans on the streets to know what a flashback panic attack looked like.

First things first, guide Clarence out of the spot where the awning was leaking and back into the protected corner. He couldn’t be sure the deluge of water was what set Clarence off, but having more rain dumping on him certainly wasn’t going to help.

Steve announced his actions before doing anything. He didn’t think Clarence was fully registering his words, but Clarence let himself be moved easily enough, so that was something at least. He was also glad that Clarence appeared to be more of a ‘hunch into a tiny ball’ fearful sort of panicker and not a ‘lash out and punch anything that touches me’ violent type of panicker. Steve would help no matter what, like he always had, but an obvious black eye or busted nose made the normal folk less likely to want to give him any money, so he was glad not to have to deal with that.

Steve kept murmuring reassurances, how Clarence was safe, that it was okay now, and repeating where Clarence was and how Steve was here for him.

When Clarence’s eyes were looking more alert, Steve moved on, telling him to try to take slower, deeper breaths, and demonstrating as best he could for Clarence to breathe with him.

By the time Clarence’s breath had returned to normal, the downpour had long since eased into a gentle misty-rain.

Steve squeezed Clarence’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“Not really,” Clarence answered.

“Something about the rain?” Steve guessed.

Clarence didn’t respond, and by the point Steve figured he wouldn’t, he whispered, “I drowned.”

Steve nodded. “That’ll do it.”

His pain, his fear, these were real. Human. Whatever else was odd or didn’t make sense about Clarence, his trauma was something Steve was all too familiar relating to.

Steve did what he could to give Clarence some comfort. He sat there with him, made sure his panic attack was over, and tried to give some advice he picked up helping out others in similar sort of situations.

“It’ll be alright, there. It’ll be alright,” Steve murmured, patting Clarence’s hand.

“Thank you, Steve. I don’t know how I would have managed today without your kindness.”

“Aw, it’s alright, Clarence. We all gotta do what we can to help each other, y’know?”

“I am constantly amazed at the generosity of humans.”

Clarence gave a ghost of a smile, sad and wane, but it still brought some light to his face. If he were to smile for real, fully without the sadness and pain, he could probably light up a room. Like the sun. Steve doubted he’d ever see such a smile from Clarence; he doubted Clarence would have much reason to smile like that. Not unless some miracle were to happen to him.

It was a shame. What Clarence needed was a proper home, a family to care for him, and one of those mind-doctors to help him work through his trauma, and it wasn’t like any of those were options for Clarence if he was out here on the street.

After the rain let up, Steve led Clarence down to the camp just outside of town under the old freeway bridge. It was further away from the regular folks who could give out money and food, but there was a good community of street folks who could look out for Clarence. More importantly though, it was a fully covered area, and there were plenty of abandoned vehicles, so plenty of shelter from the rain.

Clarence would need to be careful with that; there were plenty of folk who preyed on the unfortunate. Being homeless and afraid of rain? Clarence might get desperate enough and then all sorts could take advantage of him.

As he bade Clarence goodbye, Steve let out a silent prayer that Clarence would continue to meet with the generosity—and not the monstrosity—of humanity.

Even if he was an alien.


	4. Dean

  1. **Dean**



“Strip down to your boxers. Leave those on; you can wear them like swim trunks while you shower. I’ve got a clean pair you can change into afterwards,” Dean said.

Cas awkwardly struggled to remove his shoes with one hand, keeping his injured hand tucked to his chest. Dean picked up Cas’s discarded shirt and poured onto it a liberal amount of the special cleaning solution he and Sam used for their blood-related stains. The solution needed a bit of time to set, but Dean kept rubbing at it, mostly so he could look at anything other than Cas as he removed his pants.

He couldn’t help a glance over. Plain white boxers. They weren’t one of the pairs Dean had given Cas before he left the Bunker. Were they Jimmy’s or had Cas bought more?

“Don’t get your arm wet,” Dean called after Cas as he moved into the bathroom. He and Sam didn’t generally fuss too much with the whole ‘don’t get stitches wet’ thing, but this was _Cas_. “I’ll be right there to help.”

Cas muttered something that was vaguely like an agreement. Water turned on.

Cas would be stepping into the shower now. The steamy, hot shower. Water would run down his abs, those little, white boxers practically see-through as they clung to every curve of his ass-

No. Not going there. _So_ not going there.

Dean ran his hand along his jaw, his thumb dragging across his lower lip before he lifted his hand and ran it through his hair. Okay. He could do this. Dean needed to get this shirt rinsed out and Cas would need some help to wash up. No big deal.

It was fine. He could handle this.

Dean stepped into the bathroom and found Cas hunched over the sink, splashing water up onto his chest.

“Fuck, Cas, come on! I know I said you can’t get your arm wet, but you can get in the shower. Just be careful not to get your hand under the spray of water.”

“I’m fine,” Cas snapped.

Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to get very clean splashing off in the sink, and if you want any chance of saving this shirt, I’ve got to get to the sink to wash the blood out now. So move your ass to the shower.”

When Cas didn’t move, Dean shoved him out of the way and switched the knobs on the sink so the water ran colder, getting the temperature to a more even room-temperature than the hot water Cas had been using. 

As he scrubbed at the bloodstains, Cas stood uselessly to the side.

“Get in the shower, Cas.”

“I can wait.”

Dean threw the shirt in the sink and pushed past Cas to reach the shower knobs to turn it on. He gave a little ta-da motion.

“There. Shower. Watch your arm, but get in there and use it,” Dean ordered as he got back to washing the shirt. He just about had the blood out of it.

“It looks cold,” Cas dismissed. “I’ll wait to use the sink—”

“It’s _not_ cold. Look! Steam! It’s hot water!”

Cas eyed the shower warily and Dean was done. He grabbed Cas by his uninjured arm and yanked him into the shower.

At first Dean thought Cas was just being a contrary little shit. Like, he knew Cas was pissed off at him—and God knew Cas had plenty of reason to hate him—but Cas was injured and bloody and Dean was just trying to help. He didn’t get why Cas was snapping at him or roughly pulling out of his hands and flumping dramatically to the bottom of the shower.

But this wasn’t some passive-aggressive huff. In seconds Cas went from rolling his eyes annoyed at Dean to hunched up as small as he could get. His arms wrapped tightly around himself, his eyes shut tight, and his breath grew rapid and ragged.

What the hell?!

Cas let out a small keening sound, drawing in tighter on himself.

“Shit, fuck!” Dean cursed, springing into action.

Twisting the knob, he shut the shower off. He grabbed a large towel off the rod, sending the extra hand towels scattering to the floor. He ignored the mess as he set the towel around Cas’s shoulders and across his back.

Cas whimpered, and before Dean even realized what he was doing, he plunked himself down on the wet floor of the shower and pulled Cas to him.

“Shh, you’re safe now. I’m sorry. You’re safe now,” Dean repeated several times, but he wasn’t sure how much Cas was even hearing him through his panic.

Fuck. This wasn’t something a few words were going to fix, and Cas was breathing way too fast.

“Come on, Cas. You’ve got to breathe. I need you to breath for me, buddy,” Dean urged.

Cas jolted with a hiccup-y jerk as he clearly tried—and failed—to hold his breath in deeper.

“Yes! Like that!” Dean praised the attempt, not the result. “Try that again!”

Cas’s second attempt failed even worse than his first, and his breath took on a sharp whine as he continued to hyperventilate.

Okay. So Cas _was_ hearing him. But he couldn’t get his breath to relax. Dean could… he could work with that.

Spreading his legs into a V, Dean positioned the hunched-up Cas between his legs and drew him close, so Cas was leaning against his chest, his injured hand cradled between their bodies. Dean took Cas’s other hand and placed it onto his chest.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe. But you’ve gotta breathe with me.” He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Feel that?”

He took another deep breath. Cas tried to follow suit. He still wasn’t getting it, but Dean took it as a sign that he was on the right track for helping. Holding Cas’s hand to his chest, he kept breathing and every few breaths offering encouragements.

“Yeah, Cas. Like that. Breathe in with me. Good. Now out. Now in again…”

It felt like forever, but Cas’s rapid gasps for air slowed to deeper, though still shaky, breaths.

Dean pulled his angel closer. “I’ve got you, Cas. I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’ve got you,” he repeatedly murmured against Cas’s hair as his breath continued its gradual evening out.

As Cas recovered, Dean expected him to pull away, but if anything, he burrowed further into the nook of Dean’s shoulder.

Dean wasn’t any better; he still had his arms around Cas, keeping him tight against his chest and holding Cas’s hand in place over his heart.

It was like they were hugging.

He should… he should move them. He and Cas… they didn’t do things like this. They did things like putting a hand on the other’s shoulder. That was their sort of thing.

They had _one_ hug. In Purgatory. When they had finally reunited after months of Dean tearing the place apart to find him. And look how well that had turned out. Cas had let go of his hand and ditched him at the portal when they were both about to get out.

So he shouldn’t be hugging Cas. This wasn’t them. Cas wasn’t like that.

Except he was. A few weeks as a human and he’d had sex. (Because he was homeless, and vulnerable, and the fucking bitch assaulted him in some sort of sick game of hers before she killed him.) And now he’d gotten a job. (A crappy job. It was so beneath him. Cas was the most amazing, badass, powerful angel of the lord. Not some stupid Gas-n-Sip sales associate.) And he was out there dating. (So the date thing had been a bust. She’d been looking for a babysitter, not a date. But that wasn’t the point.)

So he _was_ like that. With women.

Not with Dean.

And it was fine. He was fine. It wasn’t like he could do anything for Cas right now. He couldn’t bring Cas back with him to the Bunker, not with Ezekiel holding Sam’s life on the line.

And it was better for Cas to stay away from him. He was looking to be human. Normal. Dean couldn’t be normal.

_“The very touch of you corrupts. When Castiel first laid a hand upon you, he was LOST!”_ Hester had once told him, and it was true. Dean ruined everything he touched.

Look at what being around him had already done to Cas. He’d been powerful and perfect, now he was fallen and human. Dean had kicked him out and Cas was out here, alone, having panic attacks because of a shower.

It was his fault that Cas had fallen. It was his fault Cas was in this stupid situation. He _had_ corrupted Cas.

Fuck. He still had his arms wrapped around Cas, because now that he had Cas in his arms, he never wanted to let him go. He fucking set Cas off on a panic attack and here he was, taking advantage of it.

The only reason why Cas hadn’t pulled away was because he was freezing. He was only wearing a pair of soaking-wet cotton boxers sitting in rapidly cooling puddle of water at the bottom of a crappy motel shower after having a panic attack. Of course he was pulling himself as tight to Dean as possible—he was seeking warmth!

And here was asshole Dean, hugging him!

Dean needed to get them up, move Cas out of the cold, and get him into some warm, dry clothes.

Any time now.

He couldn’t resist a final squeeze, but he pushed Cas out of his lap. “Come on, Cas. Let’s go get you warm.”

After Dean stood up, he pulled Cas with him, shivering but silent. The floor of the shower was more or less dry at this point; Dean’s pants had soaked up most of the water, by the feel of how heavy, cold, and gross they were. He’d have to get himself a change of clothes too. _After_ he took care of Cas.

He led Cas out of the bathroom, half-carrying him as he wasn’t sure Cas would stay standing if he wasn’t supporting him and he didn’t want to risk Cas face-planting to the floor to test that theory. He set Cas down at the bottom corner of the bed, where it wouldn’t matter so much if he got the blanket wet, and walked over to his bag. Dean grabbed the pair of clean boxers he’d set aside for Cas. Keeping his head turned away from the bed to avert his gaze away from Cas, he held out the boxers.

“Here.”

Cas didn’t take them. Dean _so_ did not want to have to change Cas’s boxers for him.

“Here,” he repeated more forcefully.

The boxers were taken out of his hand. Good.

As he ruffled through his bag looking for his sweats and his oldest, softest t-shirt, he heard the plop of wet clothing landing on the floor. Dean studiously kept his eyes in front of him, refusing the urge to glance around him. Not the time, not the place, no matter how curious he was.

He waited longer than he thought it should take for Cas to get the boxers on and still kept his head turned away when he held out the t-shirt and sweats for Cas to take. “Put these on.”

Cas took long enough to take the offered clothes that Dean thought he’d have to repeat himself again. But he took them and Dean moved to his medicine bag to dig through the bottles of pills, looking for the OxyContin he’d swiped the last time he’d been at a hospital.

Pill in hand, he reached over for his half-drunk beer before thinking better of it. Bad enough he was handing out opioids of all things to the potential druggy without teaching him to take hard core pain meds with beer. Dean was a terrible role model for Cas as it was without teaching him that sort of shit.

The motel had some of those cheap, complementary plastic cups in the bathroom. That would work.

He went in and grabbed one, dropping it on the floor as he forcefully ripped open the protective plastic surrounding it.

“Shit,” he muttered, bending down to scoop the cup up.

He filled the cup halfway, noticing Cas’s shirt still in the sink. Dean had forgotten all about it while he’d been dealing with Cas’s panic attack. Fuck, if Cas was going to wear it tomorrow, and he’d have to unless he was going to borrow one of Dean’s shirts, then it needed to be hung up to dry.

Dean wrung out what he could and hung it on the towel rack. Six hours should be enough time for it to dry. Maybe.

He left the fallen hand towels on the floor as someone else’s problem, and moved over to the door, praying that Cas was fully dressed now.

He… _mostly_ was. He had the pants on, and the t-shirt was over his head at least, but it had tangled as Cas was putting it on. He was half-heartedly tugging at it, but failing to straighten it out, leaving much of his torso exposed. Despite having seen him mostly naked only a few minutes before, there was something about seeing him _half_ -naked, in Dean’s clothes...

Dean’s mouth went dry and he raised the plastic cup to take a sip before realizing what he was doing. Fuck. He could really use his beer right about now.

With a final yank, Cas pulled the shirt down. It was like the closing of a curtain, the show was over, and the action propelled Dean forward.

“Take this,” he ordered, handing over the water and pill.

Cas looked at it dubiously, but complied.

Satisfied, Dean nodded. “Good. Now get in bed.” He held up his finger in warning. “No arguments.”

There was only one bed. When Dean had rolled into town, he wasn’t sure when— _if_ —he’d find Cas, and without Sam along for the ride, he’d figured he’d save a couple bucks and had gotten a single. If anything, he’d thought that if— _when_ —he found Cas he might skip the motel and crash at Cas’s place. By the time it was clear _that_ wasn’t happening, the motel was out of doubles.

Cas looked like he was about to protest and Dean waved him off. “You’re cold and you’re injured; you’re _not_ sleeping on the floor. Stop complaining. I’ll sleep on the bed, too. It’s big enough. Okay?”

Cas looked slightly less frowny, which Dean took as acceptance.

“Glad we’ve got that decided. Now get in the damn bed.”

Cas moved towards the right side of the bed, leaving the left side for Dean. He didn’t know, with all the times Cas had watched him sleep, if Cas had picked up that Dean preferred to sleep on the left side, or if Cas just happened to prefer the right side.

With Cas taken care of for the moment, Dean had a chance to take care of himself for a sec. His jeans were cold and uncomfortable, so first things first, he had to change out of them. Cas had his only pair of sweatpants, but he had another pair of jeans he could change into. As he rifled through his duffle, he grabbed another pair of clean boxers; the pair he had on now was likely as soaking wet as his jeans.

Shit. Would it be more awkward to take his clothes into the bathroom to change or to strip and change here, with Cas a few feet away?

Cas had no fucking modesty and striped where he’d stood. He’d probably be all confused if Dean went into the bathroom to change, since Dean didn’t usually bother with that when it was just him and Sam.

Fuck, he was overthinking things. Dean dropped trou with a decisive motion. He wasn’t doing a tease or hunching up in modesty. If he kept it cool, then it was cool. Not awkward at all.

Okay, so he yanked his boxes on faster than usual, but he did it _casually_.

No big deal.

Why the hell was he so flustered about this? It wasn’t like Cas was going to be staring at his ass like he wanted to tap it.

As he slid his jeans on, he glanced behind him.

Cas was totally staring at him.

Dean closed his eyes and let out a large sigh.

“Cas. You don’t stare at another dude getting dressed. It’s creepy.”

And it sent the wrong message.

He zipped up and glanced over. Cas had his head turned away, his eyes off to the side. In the crappy motel lighting, it almost looked like he was blushing.

Dean hung his wet jeans and boxers on the back of a chair to dry overnight. He gave a final check of the wards, paying close attention to the angel-blocking ones Cas drew, and shut the overhead light off.

In the dark, he shuffled over to the bed and flopped down on top. Cas had settled under the covers, the blankets pulled up high. His hands rested on his chest, like the stereotypical image of a vampire in a coffin. It didn’t look like a comfortable sleeping position, but maybe it was for Cas. Hopefully he was asleep already.

Sleep. Yeah, sleep would be really good right now. Anytime now.

Minutes crept by.

Sleep didn’t happen.

More minutes passed.

Still no sleep.

  


Dean sighed.

He stared up at the ceiling.

A car drove past, the flood of its headlights like a searchlight sweeping the walls of the room.

Cas let out a little cough.

Dean turned towards him.

Cas’s eyes were open.

He wasn’t looking at Dean.

He was looking up at the ceiling.

Dean turned back to look at the ceiling.

A door slammed somewhere further down the hall.

Cas coughed again.

Dean frowned.

“Do you… Do you want to talk about it?” Dean ventured.

“No.”

It was the first word Cas had said since his panic attack. Simple, curt, and a clear dismissal.

Because of course. Why would he want to talk about what had happened? Dean wouldn’t. He couldn’t blame Cas for not wanting to either.

But… Cas didn’t use to have panic attacks. Was this a result of his falling? Of becoming human?

(It had been raining the night he’d kicked Cas out of the Bunker. It had been raining hard. He remembered how miserable Cas had looked while he stood at the ticket counter of the bus station, a duffle bag clutched tight in hand, as he leaned forward to hear whatever the ticket seller was saying. Dean hadn’t stayed to wait with Cas for the bus. He should have waited with him. He’d been so worried about leaving Sam alone too long when Zeke was threatening to leave, and Cas was fine. He was always fine. So he hadn’t stayed. And Cas wasn’t fine. He was never fine.

He should have stayed.)

“Is it… is this new?” Was it his fault?

Cas turned to look at him.

“The panic attacks,” Dean clarified.

“No.”

“Oh.”

Cas turned to look back up at the ceiling.

Another car drove past. The flash of headlights dragged across the room. In the flicker of light, Dean could see a water stain on the ceiling.

How long had that been there? Had the roof been fixed? Or did it still leak?

It was amazing how much damage a bit of water could do.

“Is it, um, showers? Or rain?”

Cas clearly didn’t want to talk about this. He’d said as much. But Dean couldn’t stop poking at it. He had to know.

He had to know how badly he’d fucked up with Cas.

“What was it that triggered… you know?”

“My… ‘panic attack’?”

Cas’s voice was raspier than usual.

“Yeah.”

The heater clicked on.

Dean could feel the weight of Cas’s gaze.

He licked his lips.

He should tell Cas never mind. Forget about it. He shouldn’t have pressed.

They stared at each other, in the dark.

Waiting.

Silent.

Dean wasn’t going to close his eyes until Cas did.

“When they…”

Dean startled. Cas’s voice was so quiet it was almost lost in the murmur of the heater, and Dean wasn’t entirely sure Cas had said anything at all. He leaned closer to not miss a word.

“When they… when they walked me… into that reservoir…”

Dean froze.

He knew EXACTLY who Cas meant by ‘they’.

The Leviathans.

“I couldn’t move. The water poured over me. Filling me. Breaking me apart.”

Cas cleared his throat.

“Even when I was brought back. And I had no memories. When I tried to sleep… I had these flashes… nightmares… of the water. Pouring over me.”

Dean still had them. Even now. Not as often, not since Cas came back. But he did still have them. Those nightmares of Cas walking into that reservoir.

“I have to wonder. If this was what it was like.”

“What was?”

“For Jimmy.”

“It…” Dean trailed off, the denial cut off.

Because he didn’t know. He’d never been possessed.

Sam wasn’t aware. It wasn’t like what Cas was saying. He had to hope, at least, it wasn’t like that. But it wasn’t like he could tell Cas that he’d tricked Sam into letting an angel possess him, and Sam was walking around completely oblivious to the fact that he had an angelic hitchhiker.

“I have to wonder… If this was my punishment. For what I’d done to Jimmy. The promises I broke. The betrayals I’d committed. The lives I’d taken. It seems every time I’ve been brought back it’s even worse. So maybe this is my punishment.”

There was a pit in Dean’s stomach. Heavy and aching.

Cas’s return made Dean _happy_. He was so damn happy to have Cas back.

And Cas thought of it as a punishment.

Because he’d been happier up in Heaven. Before Dean had made him fall.

Dean had no right to be as happy that Cas was human, that Cas was next to him. And his base desires of seeing Cas in his clothes, of Cas sharing a bed with him… He had no right to hope, to wish, that after all this shit with Zeke was done, when Sam was alright again, that he could bring Cas back to the Bunker. Home. With him.

Dean was the fucking worst, because he was thinking shit like that and Cas was hurting, and there wasn’t a damn fucking thing he could do about it. He couldn’t ask Cas to come home with him now. He couldn’t tell Cas what was really going on. He couldn’t help Cas with his panic attacks. He couldn’t help Cas to feel like this wasn’t some divine punishment.

His ‘dealing with shit’ was to repress and drink, and fuck no did he want Cas doing that shit. Cas turning into that future version of himself where he was all nihilistic hippy would break Dean. Fuck. This wasn’t anything Dean was qualified to do anything about.

He was an alcoholic dropout who hunted monsters and fucked up everyone he ever cared about. What could he do about panic attacks or nightmares—

Okay, maybe nightmares was something he could do something about. Not beyond tonight, at least not until this thing with Sam and Zeke was over, but he could at least help Cas have one good night of sleep.

Dean reached his hand out, sliding it across the comforter to brush against Cas’s injured hand.

Cas turned his hand slightly, slotting Dean’s fingers amongst his so Dean’s index finger hooked around Cas’s pinky.

It was just a little touch, just enough to let Cas know he wasn’t alone right now…

**********

Dean didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t thought he’d be able to, not with all the shit that had been running through his head. But somehow he had fallen asleep, and now he opened his eyes feeling as refreshed as if he’d gotten a full night sleep rather than his usual 4 hours.

He was still holding Cas’s hand. Even after falling asleep for a few hours, he apparently never let go. Unless Cas hadn’t slept?

Whether he’d slept much or not, Dean couldn’t tell, but at the very least, Cas was completely zonked out now, his breath slow and deep with just the faintest hint of a snore.

It was fucking adorable.

Dean turned to his side so it was easier to look at Cas. It was really nice to wake up with Cas next to him, to see Cas’s face so calm and peaceful.

He’d yelled at Cas about watching him sleep, back when Cas was all powered-up angel and still running around with the dick-squad. And it had been creepy then; Cas had been a stranger at that point. But after they’d spent more time together, had become friends, well, Dean hadn’t minded it so much. Waking up to find Cas watching him made him feel safe. An honest-to-God, Angel of the Lord, there beside him, keeping him safe, keeping the nightmares away. He never had Hell dreams when Cas was there. He only had a silent rest in Purgatory after he’d found Cas, and Cas was there beside him when he went to sleep and he was still there when he woke up.

Blue eyes flashed open and Dean realized that the sounds of Cas’s snoring had stopped. It was like Cas had a fucking on/off switch; one minute he’d been asleep, and the next he was wide awake and glaring at Dean.

Fuck, Dean probably should have looked away, or he should have let go of Cas’s hand. At the very least, he should have done _something_ so it wasn’t so fucking obvious that he was watching Cas sleep like the creeper he totally was.

“What time is it?” Cas growled out.

“Uh.”

Of all the things he expected Cas to say, his accusations of how much a creep or a hypocrite he was, this wasn’t it. Dean was at a loss for an answer until he remembered that there was an alarm clock on the bedside table next to him.

“Almost five?” Dean hazarded a guess, pretty sure he was reading the clock correctly, even at the awkward angle he was looking.

“Okay.”

Cas closed his eyes.

“Okay?” Dean spluttered. What the hell was that about?!

“The store doesn’t open until 7,” Cas murmured.

“And that means…?”

“Dean.”

Cas reopened his eyes and leveled a glare darker than Sam’s the time Dean had swapped his shampoo for Nair. Cas was pissed and Dean didn’t know what he’d done to warrant it. Well, besides being a creeper watching Cas sleep.

“I. Can. Still. Sleep,” Cas growled out.

Cas closed his eyes and in seconds his stormy expression melted into his peaceful sleeping one. As if he hadn’t just tried to smite Dean with a look.

Yesh. Cas was _not_ a morning person. He was probably going to need a shit-ton of coffee to become that pleasantly smiling sales associate that Dean had met yesterday. But for now, Cas was right; he still had time he could sleep a bit more.

Dean went to take his hand back but Cas tightened his grip.

“Come on, Cas. That’s your injured hand.”

Cas refused to let go, or maybe he didn’t hear Dean. And, yup, there he was, with the barest hint of a snore again. He really had fallen back to sleep, just like that!

Dean really shouldn’t find the whole ‘angry sleeper’ routine as adorable as he did. But he couldn’t help it. Cas was a weird, dorky little guy. He was the most adorable guy Dean had ever seen.

Dean wanted to wake up like this every morning.

And with Cas holding his hand, refusing to let go, maybe Cas did too. Maybe it wasn’t impossible.

Not now, obviously. He still had to deal with Ezekiel and his ‘Cas can’t stay’ bullshit. But soon. When Sam was well and Zeke was kicked to the curb, Dean could come back here and bring Cas back home with him. And maybe Cas would want to share a bed with him, and not just because there was only one bed.

Dean could grab another beside table from one of the spare rooms, set it up on the right side of the bed for Cas. Maybe he’d do that when he got back to the Bunker, as a reminder that he had something to look forward to.

In the meantime, Cas would be the best Gas ‘n Sip Sales Associate he could be. Dean wouldn’t have to worry about him. He’d be _safe_.

Just a little while longer, and they could all be _home_. Alive and well.

_Together._


	5. Sam

  1. **Sam**



Sam frowned as his stomach growled. He’d been dozing with his head resting on one of the tables in the library before the gurgling gnaw in his stomach woke him up. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep. He certainly hadn’t meant to, but his body was still sluggish and he wore out easily. Cas had promised that with a few more healing sessions, he’d be able to fix up the internal burning from the aborted Hell trials and Sam would be back to full health and his constant-exhaustion would be gone. Sam hoped so. He was getting tired of being tired all the time.

For now, though, he was mostly hungry. A quick check around the Bunker proved Cas wasn’t around. That was… a bit worrying actually.

It was pushing two hours and Cas hadn’t returned with the food he’d gone into town to get for Sam. Yeah, Cas might be stuck walking until Sam could patch the slow leak in his rear tire, but even walking, he should have been back long before now. It was at best an hour-long trip, and that was if he stopped to pick up trash along the side of the road and said hi to everyone in the store.

Being an hour or so late wasn’t outrageous; if it was Dean that was out, Sam wouldn’t think anything of it. But Dean didn’t have every fallen angel in Heaven gunning for him.

“Come on, Cas, pick up!” Sam muttered as Cas’s phone continued to ring.

Had Cas decided Sam was fine for the time being and left to go after Dean? Sam had no doubt that if it came down to a decision between Dean and him, Dean would be the winner. Sam didn’t begrudge him that—well, okay, he did a little, but he got that there was something special between Cas and Dean.

But Cas wouldn’t ditch him without finishing healing him, or, if something _had_ come up and he had to leave now instead of later, he wouldn’t up and leave without saying something to Sam first. Sam was sure of that.

When Cas hadn’t answered any of Sam’s calls or texts by the time he’d thrown Dean’s spare donut-tire onto Cas’s Continental, Sam knew beyond a doubt something was wrong.

***********

Sam slammed on the breaks, the Continental sliding on the wet asphalt before coming to a stop. Cas was going to need new tires before winter if he planned to keep driving this thing. Sam would have to remember to tell Cas—no, Cas didn’t do the maintenance on the car. Sam would have to tell Dean—right.

He turned the wheel fully to the side and made a double-k to turn the boat of a car around. He had thought the Impala was huge, but at least it had some maneuverability! How the hell did Cas manage to drive this thing?!

Creeping down the road, Sam kept his eyes glued to the side of it, his hands white from gripping onto the steering wheel. It was hard to see in the rain, but yes, he had driven past a couple plastic shopping bags on the side of the road. And yes, that would be a familiar trench-coat wearing figure hunched down in the grass.

As soon as he stopped the car, he threw open the door and called out, “Cas!”

Cas didn’t move.

Shit. Was it Gadreel? Metatron? Another angel? Or maybe demons? What could have knocked out an angel?!

(Dean was going to fucking kill him!)

Sam slid down the embankment and knelt at Cas’s side. He didn’t see any blood, but Cas was anemic-white and his eyes were glassy and unfocused.

“Cas?” Sam tried again. “Are you okay? What’s wrong? Cas? Cas!”

Cas didn’t respond and his eyes remained unseeing even when Sam got in front of him. What was wrong with him? No blood, no obvious injuries. Something magic maybe?

Sam frantically patted him down, checking his pockets and the folds of his clothes. No hexbags. He pulled at Cas’s clothes, lifting to reveal flashes of skin. No marks or sigils. Nothing to account for his condition.

It was pouring rain and something was wrong with Cas and Sam didn’t know what to do! Fuck!

He needed to get them out of the rain. Bring Cas back to the Bunker and he could figure out what was wrong with him there.

It took pretty much everything Sam had to haul the 200-ish pounds of unresponsive angel up the slick embankment, and from there he still had to manhandle Cas into the Continental.

By the time they were in the car and out of the rain, Sam’s breath was heavy from exertion, and he didn’t like how Cas’s breathing was ragged enough to match, as if Cas had been the one carrying Sam and not the other way around.

Sam didn’t know what to do. What could he do? He didn’t even know what was wrong!

Dean would know. Dean always knew what needed to be done and how to fix things.

Damn him! Damn him for doing this to them, for betraying Sam’s trust. And damn him even more for running away and leaving Sam to deal with all of this on his own!

Dean was the one closest to Cas. Dean should be the one here with Cas.

Sam’s phone was in his hand before he even thought about it. He needed Dean. _Cas_ needed Dean. Dean would know what to do.

“Damn it, Dean!” Sam cursed when, after a half dozen rings, the phone went to voicemail.

Sam ended the call and immediately redialed. He’d do this as many times as it took for Dean to get his head out of his ass and answer his damn phone.

He hadn’t been counting, but it was probably about the eighth or ninth call when Dean finally picked up.

“Sam, I sa—”

“It’s Cas,” Sam cut in. “Something’s wrong with Cas.”

“I—What?”

“I don’t know. He collapsed on the side of the road. I don’t know what’s wrong. I don’t see any injury or a sign of a fight. He’s just unresponsive.”

“Fuck.”

“He went to get some food for me. He walked in to town because one of his tires was flat. But he was taking too long, so I went to find him. He was collapsed on the side of the road. He’s not responding, like he doesn’t even seem to know I’m in front of him. His eyes are unfocused, he’s bone-white, and he’s breathing hard. I’m not seeing anything around him, nothing that could have hurt him…”

“Is it… is it raining?”

What kind of question was that? Yes, it was raining, and Dean would know that if he hadn’t fucked off to wherever the fuck he went, but why was he asking about the weather? What did that have to do with anything?

“What does that matter?! So what if it’s raining?”

“Cas, he’s… it’s because of the rain.”

“The rain?!”

“Yeah. If it’s raining… It causes… He’s having a panic attack.”

A panic attack? Since when did Castiel, an _angel_ , have panic attacks?! And how did Dean know about this but Sam didn’t?

“What? Panic attack? Since when…?”

“It’s… not really my thing to tell.”

No. Fuck that. Sam wouldn’t have sent Cas out to get rained on if he had any idea that Cas could have problems in the rain. He would have at least checked the weather first. Or made sure to fix up the tire on Cas’s car so he wouldn’t have to walk. But Sam didn’t know, because Dean hadn’t said anything. Dean kept all these damn secrets and yet again things were blowing up in Sam’s face. This kind of shit kept happening because Dean wouldn’t tell him anything!

“You have to get him out of the rain.”

“I did.” Of course Sam had done that already. He might not know what was going on, but he wasn’t stupid. “His condition hasn’t changed since I got him out of the rain.”

“He’s hyperventilating?”

“Yes.”

“You gotta calm him down, get his breathing to deepen.”

“Sure. Right.” How the hell was Sam supposed to do that?!

“Talk to him.”

“He’s not hearing anything I’m saying! He’s completely unresponsive.”

“Well, last time he was able to respond to my voice a little—”

“Well, _I_ don’t think that’s going to work this time,” Sam snapped. “So any other ideas of what else I can do?”

“Besides talking to him, the other thing that seemed to help was, um, touch…”

“Touch?” Sam questioned. “What are you talking about? Like he needs the grounding of a hand on his shoulder or something?”

“Like a, um, a _hug_.”

There was a lot to unpack with that, starting with the fact that Dean obviously knew about Cas’s panic attacks, all the way up to the fact that Dean, Mr. Emotionally Repressed, overcompensating, so-far-in-the-closet-he-could-see-Narnia, _that_ Dean, had been _hugging_ his best-friend angel. When the hell had they made that much progress in their relationship?!

Anyway, considering he had Cas pretty well sprawled on top of him getting them both into the back seat of the car, Sam figured he had the ‘touch’ and ‘hugging’ part down.

“Already ahead of you on that.”

“What, you’re _hugging_ him?!”

Oh for fuck’s sake, Sam did _not_ need his brother getting into a jealous snit!

“Well, _you’re_ not the one here to take care of him, are you?” Sam shouted.

It was the wrong thing to do; Cas might not have been hearing much of _what_ Sam had been saying, but he clearly did not like the angry tone of _how_ he was saying it.

Cas flailed, his elbow smacking Sam’s jaw, sending the cellphone tumbling out of his hands to land somewhere on the seat behind him.

“Fuck!” Sam swore. Just what he needed: the super-strong angel striking out randomly in his panic.

If Sam had thought wrestling an unresponsive angel up a wet embankment was hard, it had nothing on wrestling a flailing and panicking angel in the confines of the backseat of a car.

Ultimately, Sam pinned Cas down, though that was less to do with any particular strength or skill on Sam’s part, and more to do with the fact that Cas seemed to want to curl up on himself more than to fight Sam off. Even so, Sam was worn out, sore, and likely going to be bruised from a few of Cas’s lucky hits.

“Sam! Sam!” a disembodied and muffled voice was calling his name.

Right. He’d dropped his phone. Fuck. He was barely keeping hold of Cas as it was!

Pressing Cas as best he could to his chest with one hand, Sam risked moving his other hand to fish around behind him for his phone. Once he’d grabbed it, he pressed the speaker phone on and dropped it on the back window sill so he could get back to holding Cas with both hands.

“Sam! Are you alright?! What’s going on?!”

“Cas got a bit overenthusiastic with his panicking. I’ve got it under control now.”

“You both okay?”

“I’m fine, but he’s getting worse. I don’t know what else to do. You said you… you _hugged_ him. And you talked to him. What did you say?”

“I don’t know. Like… like, he was safe now. That I had him.”

The shift was subtle, and if it had been anyone else Sam wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but this was _Cas_ and it was _Dean_ , and there had always been something between the two of them. Unspoken, certainly, but undeniable.

Cas had heard Dean’s voice over the phone, Sam was certain of that.

“Talk to him, Dean.”

“What?”

“Talk to him. He’s hearing your voice. I’ve got you on speaker, and he’s responding a little. You have to keep going,” Sam urged.

Dean didn’t say anything, and Sam feared he’d asked too much, asked his brother to expose too much of himself, a part they both knew was there but both pretended they had no idea.

“Cas?” Dean called out hesitantly. “Cas, can you hear me? Sam says you can hear me. And I really hope he’s right because this feels really stupid right now. Cas, you’ve got to breathe. You’re safe now. We’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Sam could feel Cas’s body relax as Dean repeated that Cas was safe, and Sam shifted his grip on Cas so he was hugging Cas and not pinning him down.

After a while, between Sam’s embrace and Dean’s voice offering assurances that Cas was safe and that they had him, Cas slumped bonelessly against Sam, his breath slowing and deepening back to normal.

Cas pulled forward, out of Sam’s arms, and turned his head so he could look at Sam, his expression confused, the muffled puzzlement of one waking up and trying to figure out what was going on.

“…Sam?”

Sam smiled, relief filling him. Cas was alright. They did it. It was going to be alright.

“Yeah, Cas.”

Cas’s eyes did that confused squinty thing and he cocked his head to the side. “Dean…?” he asked, softly.

“What the Hell, Cas? Are you fucking stupid?! Don’t go out in the rain when you know you get panic attacks from the rain!” Dean yelled, his voice cracking. “You both need to learn how to handle shit on your own instead of running to me every time you stub your fucking toe!”

Sam’s jaw dropped.

“You’re better off without me,” Dean muttered.

Before Sam could even formulate a response, Dean hung up.

What the hell was _wrong_ with Dean?! Why was he being such an asshole?! Sam wanted to throw his phone he was so furious, and Cas…

Cas had _wilted._

Fuck. Of course Cas was going to take Dean lashing out seriously. The sun rose and set with Dean for Cas.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Cas croaked. When it was clear that Sam didn’t know what he was talking about, he added, “For being so broken.”

Sam’s heart clenched. “Cas. You’re _not_ broken.”

“I’m having ‘panic attacks’ because of some rain.”

It hit Sam that he was sitting in the back of a pimpmobile with Cas barely out of his lap, trying to ease some of the existential dread for an honest-to-God Angel of the Lord. Sam had to have Cas magically remove his Hell trauma or he would have died of madness and exhaustion. What was Sam doing trying to council Cas on _his_ trauma?

But he had to at least try; Cas was his _friend_ and he was _hurting_.

“You’re so used to being able to put your hand on our foreheads and instantly heal whatever ails us, but some injuries need _time_ to heal. No one could go through what we have and not come out with some trauma. We may have some mental scars, but we’re not _broken_. _You’re_ not broken.”

Cas didn’t look convinced.

Sam continued, “It’s _okay_ to take the time to heal, and in the meantime, you don’t have to try to face it all alone. It’s okay to lean on the people around you. It might help to talk to someone about what you’re going through. I’m here any time if you want to talk, or Dean--”

But Dean _wasn’t_ around, and from Cas’s sad expression he was thinking about that, too. 

Cas needed Dean; _they_ needed him. But Dean walked away. He hung up on them. And Sam was so… so _angry_ … He was furious at Dean. For what Dean had done to him. What Dean was doing now to Cas.

But Cas didn’t need Sam’s anger right now, even if it was on his behalf. He’d had a panic attack; he needed to be home, with something warm to drink and he needed peace and calm. For Cas’s sake, Sam could button up his anger at Dean, to be dealt with at another time.

“Come on, let’s get back to the Bunker.”

***********

Sam’s phone rang. He frowned at the called I.D. Why was Dean calling him so soon? After the way he’d hung up on them, Sam hadn’t expected to hear from Dean again for weeks. He figured Dean would need more time moping and hand-wringing with his guilt before he got over himself enough to talk to them again.

He considered ignoring the call, but, on the off chance Dean had gotten his head out of his ass and was going to apologize for being such a colossal jerk, Sam decided to be the bigger person and to answer.

“What?” he demanded.

“…Um. I was hoping to talk to Cas…”

Dean was calling _Sam_ to talk to _Cas_? Why the hell didn’t he call Cas himself?! Oh. Right. Cas’s phone was still shut off and buried in the bag of rice while they tried to dry it out from soaking in the rain. And after what had happened, it made sense why Dean would want to call Sam to check in when he couldn’t get ahold of Cas.

But if Dean was going to be worried, he shouldn’t have been such an asshole and hung up on them!

“He’s not here,” Sam bit out.

“…What?! He just had a panic attack! Why’d you let him leave?!”

Sam’s hands tightened into fists. “I didn’t _let_ him do anything.” Before he could think better of it, Sam added, “He told me _you_ said he couldn’t stay in the Bunker, so even though you’re not around he doesn’t feel like he can stay.”

It wasn’t true—Cas had stepped out to replace the food items that had been ruined by the rain, and he’d promised Sam another healing session later that night—but Sam knew the accusation would hurt Dean and Sam was angry enough at Dean right now that he _wanted_ to hurt him.

Dean had tricked him into being possessed by some angel he knew nothing about. Kevin was dead because of what Dean had done. Cas… Cas now had _panic attacks_ in the rain because Dean had kicked him out of the bunker when Cas was alone and human and hunted by his family. And Cas had spent those months alone thinking _Sam_ hated him! Not that Cas had said exactly that, but Sam was able to read between the lines. Cas had expressed his gratitude that Sam hadn’t been pushing him away the past few months. He’d thought Sam couldn’t forgive Cas for breaking his mental wall and hurting him years ago! And all of it because of Dean and his damn lies!

So yeah, Sam was angry and wanted Dean to hurt. Not forever, because Dean proclaiming he was poison and had to run away from everyone was _all Dean_. Sam never asked him to do that. Dean never gave him a chance…

“I...I _told_ him…” Dean sputtered. “Gadreel… It wasn’t because… _Why_ would he _think_ …?”

From the sounds Sam could hear in the background, Dean was sitting in a bar. Because of fucking course Dean was drowning his feelings in drink. Instead of actually _talking_ or _dealing_ with his fucking issues, like Sam kept telling him to do, he was just drinking it down.

“Why do you think?” Sam bit out, then forcefully pushed the call-end button.

Dean could see how it was to have someone hang up on him when there was a conversation he needed to have! _He_ could sit stewing in his frustration this time!

When Cas’s phone dried out, and he and Dean next talked, Dean would find out Cas was still at the Bunker and he’d realize that Sam had lied to him about Cas leaving, and he’d know it was because Sam was still very pissed off at him. Dean could see how it felt to be manipulated!

Since the only thing that was going to be harmed by this was another twist in Dean’s entirely-deserved sense of guilt and maybe some more trauma to his liver, Sam felt justified in allowing himself to be a little petty.

Besides, Sam _knew_ Dean. When Dean finally got his head out of his ass and talked to Cas, what Sam had said would have Dean insisting that Cas belonged with them in the Bunker. And maybe from there, those two would finally _properly_ talk!

Wouldn’t that be something? Unlike Dean and his lies, Sam’s little lie wasn’t going to hurt anything. It would actually _help_.


	6. Rowena

  1. **Rowena**



Rowena hadn’t needed to consult the bones to know as soon as her usefulness had passed, Samuel would have her killed. She had no doubt he’d be willing and able to do it himself, but, more likely, he’d be gallivanting with his brother and would have that delectable angel of his do the deed in his stead, and that posed quite a problem for her. In her weakened state, was there anything she could throw at an angel that would affect him? Certainly none of the spells she could cobble together on the fly. She needed time to prepare without the watchdogs Samuel had hovering over her.

First, target the weakest link: the bonnie wee lass whom Samuel thought he needed to bring in to ‘crack the code’. As if some non-witch would ever be able to understand the codex! And really, he should have given proper _warning_ of his intention to bring in another person so she didn’t fall to all sorts of wrong conclusions. Still, she supposed rather graciously if she should say so, certain allowances had to be made for Samuel’s deficiencies. He had such little consideration for how to treat a witch of her stature and position—she was, after all, the mother to the King of Hell!

Upon learning this ‘Charlie’ was not a witch and she wasn’t some sign that Samuel had doubted Rowena’s capabilities as a witch, Rowena found she didn’t object quite so much to the lass on general principle.

(But really, what sort of name was ‘Charlie’?! Aye right that was the lass’s real name! She wouldn’t give Rowena a _proper_ name to call her—a rather wise move on her part, really, Rowena had to begrudgingly accept considering the power that could be found in a true name—so Rowena had no choice but to use that terribly improper name, no matter how off-putting Rowena found it.)

In other circumstances, Rowena might even like this ‘Charlie’, which was entirely too much of a problem. Rowena kept seeing herself in this earnest, eager, young woman, and it was ‘Charlie’s’ damn misfortune to get herself entangled with those two Winchester brothers.

Oh aye, Rowena knew what would happen. It was so blatantly clear that ‘Charlie’ would be crushed under the waves of Winchester. She’d seen what those two brothers could do; she’d seen her own son, the _King of Hell_ , lose his heart to the elder of the boys. And for what? Jilted! And yet he still pined after the boy, at the cost of his pride, his dignity, his _kingdom_!

Those brothers chewed people up. All that mattered to them was of what _use_ someone could be to them. She’d seen their like, aye, and in the weaker times of her life, had fallen prey to their sort, as ‘Charlie’ was now.

Despite the unpleasantness of their introduction, Rowena had hoped ‘Charlie’ might see reason, would see the sense in aligning herself with Rowena, and, perhaps even, might realize her potential and become the first apprentice in what would be, with the aid of the Book of the Damned of course, the greatest coven in the world. Rowena could feel the spark of magic in the young lass, and with the right instruction, ‘Charlie’ would surely become a right and proper, powerful witch. Not as powerful as Rowena, of course, but certainly a fine, respectable companion in these trying times.

Alas, ‘Charlie’ had more blind loyalty than sense and Rowena was not going to stick her neck out for a lass who was determined to follow a pair of men to her death. It was a shame, really, but ‘Charlie’ needed to be removed, and once she was gone, Rowena could deal with the angel.

Fortunately, if there was at least one bright spot to their rather rocky introduction, Rowena now had a clear picture of how easy it was to get under ‘Charlie’s’ skin, and from there it was just a matter of time. The real challenge was to push the lass to storm out _without_ having their angelic jailor immediately fetch and return her.

For now, she bided her time, keeping ‘Charlie’ in a constant state of slow, simmering frustration, and waited for her chance. There would be one. There always was.

She filed her nails, feigning indifference and inattention while ‘Charlie’ and the angel huddled in confidence in the next room over, unaware of how easily she was able to listen in to their hushed conversation.

“I… I am going crazy,” ‘Charlie’ stammered. “I know. No, I mean, she is evil.”

“She is a wicked witch, so by definition…” the low rumbling bass of the angel replied.

Ah, that charming, handsome angel… so very literal! It was quite an endearing trait. It was a shame she’d likely have to kill him as well.

“No, no, no. I mean something bad is gonna happen here. Castiel, man, just spring me for two hours, one hour…” ‘Charlie’ pleaded. “Anyplace quiet. Dean is my buddy, and I cannot screw this up, but… but my mind is… is… it’s a wad of gummy worms. Please.”

“I’m sorry, Charlie, but Sam said you’re to remain here.”

“I need some time away from her. I need some fresh air!”

There was a pause while Castiel seemed to consider her request. Sensing the same weakness in him that Rowena did, ‘Charlie’ pounced on his hesitancy.

“Just outside!” she said in a rush. “I’ll stay in sight of this place, so you can keep an eye on me still. Please!”

The angel considered this, and Rowena hoped he’d go outside with her. She really wanted them both _gone_ , further away than ‘just outside’ but beggars couldn’t be picky, and she’d at least have a little breathing room to work if they were outside instead of hovering over her shoulder.

There was movement, shuffling in the other room. It seemed the angel was acquiescing to ‘Charlie’s’ request. A door opened. A hint of fresh, wet air wafted past.

The door slammed shut and Rowena frowned at the sudden tense energy emanating from the other room.

“Aren’t we going out?”

“No.” The angel’s voice was sharp and firm. There was no budging in his tone.

“Why not?” When she got no answer, as Rowena knew she wouldn’t, the wee lass kept going, like the child she still was. “Because of a little rain? I don’t mind the rain. Really. No biggie.” ‘Charlie’ kept weedling, begging for permission to go out. “I’ve got a change of clothes, and if you don’t want to get wet, you can stay here with Rowena while I go out. I promise not to go far.”

“No. I—I can’t. If something were to happen, I couldn’t… I wouldn’t be able to get you.”

“Oh, come on—”

“I said no!” Castiel snapped, his voice reverberating in the warehouse, every inch the Warrior of God he announced himself to be.

The resulting silence felt thick in the air.

“Okaaaaaaay,” ‘Charlie’ said, drawing out the ‘a’ sound. “How about I tell you why I need to get out of here so badly, if _you_ tell me what _that_ was about. Cause that wasn’t a nothing. That was very much a something. And we’re besties now, and besties talk to each other, and I have a feeling this is something you need to talk about with a bestie.”

Rowena hoped Castiel would take ‘Charlie’ up on her offer to talk. There was something that had ruffled the unflappable angel’s feathers, and she greatly wanted to know what it was.

“I guess I’ll start,” ‘Charlie’ said. “Rowena is getting to me so much because I fear she’s right; we are a lot alike. I was too old to get my Hogwarts letter, but here she is, telling me I could be a witch, and I’m terrified by how tempted I am by that. She gets under my skin and I’m afraid if I don’t get some distance between us I’ll forget that Anakin is a cautionary tale and get seduced to the Darkside.”

This revelation was not surprising to Rowena—she had already understood that to be the case—but she was surprised to hear ‘Charlie’ admit it, both to herself as well as outloud to the angel.

“So. That’s my side. What about you? What is getting you all stern and flustered?”

“It’s…that.”

‘That’?! What in Hell’s frozen depths was Castiel going on about ‘that’?! She could only _hear_ their conversation, she couldn’t bloody well _see_ what they were talking about!

“’That’?” ‘Charlie’ asked.

Oh blessed lass, she was as in the dark as Rowena was, and in a better position to ask about it!

“What? The rain?” ‘Charlie’ questioned, her puzzlement clear in her voice.

“Yes. The rain.”

“Is this some sort of weird angel thing? Like, the rain messes up your feathers?”

“It isn’t an ‘angel thing’. It is a _personal_ failing.”

“Oh.”

The silence stretched out uncomfortably and Rowena resisted the urge to move closer so she could see what was happening.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s not a pleasant story.”

“I wouldn’t imagine it _would_ be.” There was a sound of movement. “Come, sit down. It might help you to talk about it, and I could really use some distance and time not thinking about the code and queen bitch in the other room.”

What a thing to say! Rowena might be deliberately annoying the lass, but ‘Charlie’ didn’t have to be so rude about it!

“I… I don’t do well with water,” Castiel halting explained. “I’m alright with something like a glass of water, or a river across the way, but I don’t think I could go _in_ to a body of water, and I… do not _react_ well to being in the rain.”

“What do you mean when you say you ‘don’t react well’?”

“My vagus nerve triggers elevated heart palpitations, causing my ventricles to contract prematurely, followed by intense hyperventilation--” 

“Elevated heart Emperor Palpatine say what?”

“I have been told it is called a ‘panic attack’,” Castiel simplified.

“Ooooh. Okay.”

In the silence that followed, Rowena feared that was all they were going to say. Rowena _needed_ more details if she was going to be able to use this information against Castiel!

“Is this… is this a _recent_ situation… for you?” ‘Charlie’ asked.

“Yes, it’s been about four years.”

“Okay, see, maybe for someone a few thousand years old—”

“I’m closer to 3.51 billion years old,” Castiel interrupted to correct.

_Billion_?! Why Rowena was but an infant!

“Yeah, okay, definitely when we’re going on the scale of _billions_ of years than four is pretty recent, but it’s not for humans. Oh. Um. Human. Dean said something about you being human for a little while. Did something traumatic happen when you were human?”

“I was made aware of my reaction while I was human, but no, the drowning incident occurred when I was an angel.”

“Drowning incident? That sounds pretty traumatic. What happened?”

“An ancient race of monsters called the ‘Leviathan’—”

“Oh, I know all about the Leviathan,” ‘Charlie’ cut in.

Rowena didn’t, but she’d look into it later.

“It was my fault the Leviathans were released. I’m the one who let them out. I thought… I thought I had no choice. I had to do whatever it took to stop the Apocalypse.”

“Well, stopping the Apocalypse was pretty important. But I don’t remember anything about that in the books.”

“Books?”

“You know, the ones by Carver Edlund. They ended with ‘Swan Song’ and how Sam jumped into the pit with Lucifer riding shotgun and pulling Michael along with them, and you went back up to Heaven and left Dean _all alone_. Kind of a dick move on your part, by the way.”

“So I’ve come to realize,” Castiel said ruefully.

“Anyway, I was under the impression the Leviathan thing happened _after_ the Apocalypse, since they weren’t in the books. Unless there are more books?! Are there more books?! I thought I had found all of them between the ones actually published and the unpublished manuscripts I hacked from the publisher’s computer.”

“No, the Winchester Gospels were meant to record the story of the Apocalypse, and when that was averted, there wasn’t a need for the Gospels to continue, and the prophet who had been recording the events is no more.”

“Oh. Okay. Good. I mean, it would have been _pretty darn helpful_ to get some insight into what all happened post Apocalypse-that-didn’t-quite-happen, but on the other hand, then it would have run into when the guys met _me_ , and while on one hand it would be pretty awesome to be in a book, on the other hand, I’m not so sure I’d actually _like_ to have my real self on the page for everyone to read, y’know?”

What were they blathering on about? What books? What Gospels? What did this have to do with the angel’s weakness?!

“So were the Leviathans a plot point that had been left out of the books, or…?”

“The Leviathans were released in my attempts to stop the Apocalypse from being restarted during the civil war in Heaven. After Sam and Dean had stopped the Apocalypse, I couldn’t let their sacrifice be in vain. I thought I had to do ‘whatever it takes’.”

It was clear from his tone that he regretted that methodology. Rowena could relate; she had her own ‘whatever it takes’ regrets.

“I thought I could control them. By the time I realized they were controlling me, I was too weak to push them all back into Purgatory. The Leviathans walked me into a reservoir where I drowned. A fitting punishment for my sins.”

“Oh. Wow. Okay. So yeah, it sounds like that whole experience was pretty traumatic for you.”

“I… Yes. I would say it was.”

“I mean, and I can’t believe I’m saying this as an actual thing, but you’ve _died_ before, right? In the books, at least, you were blown up by both Raphael and then again by Lucifer.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“And you didn’t seem to have this sort of trauma from those deaths. I mean, I’m sure they were pretty traumatic, but—”

“No, you’re right. The drowning was different for me. I thought maybe it was because my human self couldn’t deal with the memories of drowning, but I am still just as affected when I became an angel again. And I’ve checked The Google about aquaphobia, but none of the recommended treatments have had any effect.”

“So, maybe it’s not the death and drowning so much, but the guilt you associate with what has happening around the drowning. I mean, you said yourself that you thought of the drowning as punishment for what you’d done. And trying to treat the aquaphobia, you haven’t been addressing the root cause, the guilt you feel for what led to the drowning.”

“I...I don’t…” Castiel paused as if he was only just now realizing that his trouble could possibly be caused by an underlying issue and not the splashy surface reaction. “...Maybe,” he concluded rather lamely.

“So maybe to cure your fear of water, you need to forgive yourself and move on from your past mistakes.”

The lass was a bit too young, too _good_ to have the sort of sins that creatures like the angel and Rowena had haunting their past, but she wasn’t wrong that one needed to keep moving forward or else just give up entirely.

“If I could just bring back a win fo--” Castiel cut himself off. “You should get back to work. We need to get this cure for Dean.”

‘Charlie’ grumbled but there were sounds of movement as she and Castiel were making their way back towards the main room.

Rowena settled herself to appear occupied and oblivious of the deep conversation her companions had shared as they took up their former places around her. But while she kept her face impassive, her mind was awhirl from all that she’d learned.

Imagine that! The all-powerful angel of the lord, her jailor and intended executioner, afraid of a bit of water! Wasn’t that interesting? 

It wouldn’t take much to work ‘Charlie’ up, _desperate_ to get out of here—she was mostly there already. And ‘Charlie’ was a clever lass, so she could find a way to slip away in an unnoticed moment. Rowena could call forth a wee bit of rain to keep the angel from immediately giving chase, just long enough to give ‘Charlie’ a good head start. When the rain let up, Castiel would rush after ‘Charlie’, leaving Rowena with a bit of alone time to prepare some protective measures for Samuel’s inevitable double-cross once she fulfilled her side of the bargain.

Just a little push on ‘Charlie’ and a little rain spell to separate her from the angel. No one would be worse for wear.

Until she murdered them all to get away with the book, of course.


	7. Crowley

**VII. Crowley**

Crowley didn’t know why he was doing this. In order to avoid being burned out of existence by Lucifer, he was smoking _into_ Lucifer’s current meatsuit, where he would, in all likelihood, be burnt out by the archangel all the sooner. The Winchesters were rubbing off on him.

The cement wall in front of him wasn’t what he expected to see once he got into Castiel’s mind, and for a moment Crowley thought Lucifer might have noticed his arrival and blocked his entry. 

It was the faint sound of a television, not the expected glow of divine energy, which drew Crowley’s attention to the table behind him. Castiel was hunched over a small box television—the sort that only got a few channels, via bunny-ears of course, and required the viewer to stand up to manually change the few channels it could receive.

“What in the blazes…” Crowley muttered.

If he wasn’t burnt out of existence immediately for being too close to the true form of an angel, he’d expected fire, brimstone, and—not to put too fine a point on it—lots of bloody torture! For a being who was currently possessed by Lucifer, a crappy old-school television was not the level of trauma he’d expected to smoke into.

Was this some sort of trick?

“Castiel?”

Castiel glanced over his shoulder before turning his attention back to the bunny-ears of the tv, shifting them slightly to clear the fuzz. “Oh. Crowley. What are you doing here?”

“Is this the Winchester’s kitchen?” Crowley asked. He couldn’t quite believe what his eyes were telling him, and the question came out despite the apparently obvious answer.

“Sort of,” Castiel answered, his focus still on the television. He shifted the ears again then rested his hand on his cheek. “I come here in my mind to pass the time. For some reason, it has excellent reception.”

Where was the angel bursting with righteous fury? Where was the brilliant tactical mind who outsmarted both he and an archangel all while moping about his failing bromance with the elder Winchester? Why was Castiel sitting listlessly in front of a pathetic black and white television instead of fighting back?!

“What’s wrong with you? What has Lucifer done to you?”

Castiel gave a little shake of his head. “Well, he mostly just leaves me alone. I’m just waiting here, you know. For the battle. With the Darkness.”

“He’s really gotten his hooks into you,” Crowley concluded more to himself than the angel in front of him. To Castiel he spoke sharply, “Snap out of it. Do you know what’s happening out there? The Winchesters have trapped the abomination so that you can expel him so that they can put him back in the cage…”

“Well that doesn’t sound like a very good idea.”

“In your current state, you’re in no position to judge,” Crowley growled.

“Wait.” Castiel looked away from the television, his focus fully on Crowley for the first time since Crowley had appeared. “That was Dean I saw a minute ago, wasn’t it?”

Of course it would be the thought of Dean that could get through Castiel’s ennui!

“Yes.”

“And he wants me to _expel_ Lucifer?”

“Yes!”

Castiel actually seemed to be considering moving. “He may have a more objective view of the situation. Maybe I should.”

“So let’s do it _now_!” Crowley urged, and for good measure because he had no doubt what motivated Castiel, Crowley added, “Dean needs you to do this!”

Sure enough, mentioning Dean was the secret to moving him. Castiel stood and took a step towards Crowley before freezing, his eyes wide and the blood draining from his face.

Had Lucifer found them already?!

But when Crowley turned around, he didn’t see Lucifer. He also didn’t see the familiar hallway where he’d first appeared. Instead, the doorway out of the kitchen opened onto a familiar looking lake that stretched out before him. It took Crowley a moment to place where he’d seen that lake before: he was looking at the reservoir that had been outside the lab he’d used when he’d been questioning the alphas on how to get into Purgatory.

Why the hell was Castiel shaking from the sight of that lake?

“We need to move! Before it’s too late!” Crowley exclaimed, hoping to push Castiel past whatever his issue was.

“It already is,” Lucifer spoke behind Crowley.

Terror coursed through him.

Lucifer let out a large sigh. “Really, Crowley? You want to put me back in the cage? Well, I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”

Bollocks.

Lucifer stood in the kitchen doorway. Behind him, the lake was gone. It didn’t matter now, he supposed. Whatever it was about it that had so bothered Castiel, it had done its job of keeping him in place.

As Lucifer flung Crowley around like a rag doll, Castiel’s attention had shifted back to the television and away from thoughts of escape. There would be no aid from the angel.

His only bit of luck in this completely bollocksed situation was that Lucifer wanted to play with his food; instead of immediately snapping him out of existence entirely, Lucifer wanted a slow and painful beat down. It gave Crowley a chance to use his connection with his own meatsuit to send the Winchesters a message.

Lucifer got a few more body throws across the fake-kitchen before Crowley felt the pull of Sam’s exorcism, expelling him from Castiel’s body and slamming him back into his own.

“Useless,” he gasped out. “Lucifer’s hold on him is too strong. I thought I had him for a moment, but he got spooked.”

“By Lucifer?” Sam asked.

Crowley shook his head. “No. Some lake.”

“Lake?” Dean’s question was more of a demand.

Crowley doubted Dean would have any more idea about it, so Crowley had no reason to obfuscate the information, though he couldn’t resist a little dig. “It was a random reservoir by my old workshop, back when Castiel had been playing for _my_ team.”

And see, that expression on Dean Winchester’s face… If he’d had any doubt that there was some significant event that occurred at that lake, Crowley had none now. Something had happened to Castiel at that lake, and Dean knew of it. Crowley was fairly certain nothing had happened while he’d been at the workshop, so whatever got both their knickers in a twist had to have happened after Castiel had broken his deal with Crowley and drunk himself crazy with Purgatory souls—

“Lads!” his mother cried out. “The fire!”

Sure enough, the holy fire which was keeping Lucifer in check had vanished. There would be no doubt which angel opened his eyes, but even so, Crowley’s gut clenched when the higher toned words admonished him.

“Ah. Trick me? You lied to me,” Lucifer accused. “You know, I could have been your warrior.”

Crowley threw himself back into Hell.

It wouldn’t matter in the long run; either Lucifer was successful in taking out Amara, at which point he’d move on to taking out Crowley and the rest of the world, or Amara would take out Lucifer, and while Crowley _might_ be able to talk his former charge into not extinguishing his existence immediately, for old times’ sake, the likelihood of that being successful was about as likely as getting Lucifer out of his ex’s paramour’s body or finding out what was so special about that damn lake. _Bollocks, that was going to drive him nuts for the brief time he had left_.

He felt some regret at abandoning the Winchesters (and maybe even his mother) but, like the little cockroach that he was, he would abandon everyone around him to give himself that chance to cling to his pathetic existence a little longer.

He might be entirely too fond of both Sam and Dean, and he liked the world well enough, but not enough to _die_ for them.


	8. Castiel

**VIII. Castiel**

Castiel lay on nothingness, his mind reeling and raw from the onslaught on his memories. It wasn’t just being forced to recall the worst of his actions, but the entity hadn’t been gentle with its intrusion into his mind either.

“Come on, Castiel! Wouldn’t you rather be a fond memory than a constant, festering disappointment?” the entity oozed, punctuating his point with a vicious kick into Castiel’s side.

His words hurt more than the kick, pinpointing as they did with razor-precision on Castiel’s own dark thoughts. He _was_ a constant disappointment. To his angelic family, to his human family, to himself. To Dean. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t seem to bring a win back to Dean.

“Just let’s lay down. Let’s just try and sleep. Hmm?” It roughly patted at his head. “Think about it. Infinite peace, yes? No regrets. No pain. Kiddo, save yourself.”

“ _Dean Winchester is saved!”_ Castiel had exalted when he had reached Dean in Hell. _“Dean Winchester is saved!”_ he’d cried out when he’d shed Dean’s soul of its growing demonic taint. _“Dean Winchester is saved!”_ he’d called out joyfully when he’d restored Dean to his body.

It was Castiel’s greatest triumph; his most treasured memory, his first meeting with Dean, this human who would come to mean so much to him.

He had _saved_ Dean. And now, somehow, Dean had woken him up in the Empty. Castiel didn’t know how Dean had done it, but he knew it had to have been Dean, for Dean always managed to do the impossible. Dean was working to save Castiel.

“I’m already saved,” Castiel declared.

The entity kicked him again, but his kicks were trivial.

Dean had done his part to wake Castiel up, and now it was up to Castiel to do the rest. He didn’t know how, but he had to get the entity to let him go. What would Dean do? Dean, who fearlessly stood up to both Michael and Lucifer, who faced God and the Darkness, he would get in the entity’s face and demand to be let go.

Castiel slowly rose to his feet.

“You can prance and you can preen and you can scream and yell and remind me of all my failings, but somehow, I’m awake. And I will stay awake and I will _keep_ you awake until we _both go insane_.”

The entity punched him.

Castiel took the hit. It didn’t matter; Castiel knew he was on the right path. It was resorting to violence because for some reason, it couldn’t counter Castiel’s words. It _couldn’t_ put Castiel back to sleep on its own.

“I will fight you,” Castiel declared with conviction. “Fight you and fight you. For… ever. For eternity.”

The entity shook its head. “No. No.”

Castiel might not know _why_ the entity couldn’t destroy him, or put him back to sleep, why it needed him to go back to sleep on his own, but that was the leverage he needed.

“Release me,” Castiel demanded.

The entity’s eyes shifted, a hint of a frown creasing its face.

“Release. Me.”

Its eyes widened slightly and a smirk ghosted its lips. “Okay.”

Apprehension filled Castiel.

“Yes. Yes. I’ll release you. If you’re going to be so _annoying_ than you can leave. If you want to return to life, you can take _that_ path.”

Castiel had a feeling he wouldn’t like ‘that path’.

“ _There’s_ your way out.” The entity pointed to a hole behind Castiel.

Castiel looked into the hole and his stomach dropped with a sharp inhalation for air he didn’t need. On the other side of the portal was the reservoir. The water he had been walked into and drowned in by the Leviathans.

Even at the best of times, the sight of the lake would terrify him. Now, with the horror of that drowning a fresh scab in his mind after the entity’s assault on his worst memories and regrets, the sight of that lake brought terror gripping his heart and he could feel the panic rising.

“You can cry and you can stamp those pretty little feet of yours all you want, but that’s it. That is the only way for you to go back.”

“No.” Castiel shook his head and took a step back without meaning to.

“Yes,” the entity taunted.

Castiel could feel the satisfaction radiating off the entity behind him. It had him, and it knew it.

“Since you don’t want to go that way, I guess you’ll just have to go back to sleep now.”

Maybe he should. This lake, the water... The guilt he felt for his mistakes, his failures. Failure after failure laid at Castiel’s feet, and it all sprung from his mistake which resulted in his drowning in this very lake.

He couldn’t go into that water. He couldn’t do it.

“Of course you can’t. But you can sleep and forget all about it. No more pain, no more fear, no more guilt. Go back to sleep. It’s better this way.”

Better? No, not better. Just easier. 

He’d faced the lake once before, when Lucifer had trapped him in his mind. But he hadn’t been brave enough and had refused to go into the lake. It had been easier to stay under Lucifer’s control than to face his fears and failures. Even when Dean had begged him to expel Lucifer, Castiel couldn’t do it. And that failure became one more that weighed on him.

But now Castiel had another chance. Somehow, Dean and Sam had woken him up. They _needed_ him. Despite his failures, despite his faults, they still needed him.

His love for Dean might be unrequited, he might never be able to fully redeem himself to Dean, he might not have the full power he once possessed, but they still needed him.

Somehow, despite it all, they still needed him.

There was something he still could offer them, there was something he still could do. He _wanted_ to do something.

There was no righteous path, no divine plan to follow. Just people winging it, doing their best to do the right thing. _He_ was doing his best to do the right thing. He had failed, so many times, and he may never be able to fully fix his mistakes, or to redeem himself for the wrongs he’d committed, but he didn’t want to give up.

He didn’t know what he could do, but he knew how to take that first step.

Castiel walked purposefully forward into the lake. Towards his life.

The sharp inhalation as the entity gasped in shock was followed by its murmured cries of “No. No.”

The water was cold, and it seeped up from his feet, climbing his legs.

His steps were unbalanced and sluggish as the mud at the bottom of the lake clung to the soles of his shoes. He stumbled but caught himself before falling. Despite the difficulty in moving and the fear still gripping his heart, Castiel kept walking forward, deeper into the water.

The cold water clung to his waist, to his chest. The ground he’d been walking on was gone, and he was sinking. His arms reached upwards, but the water poured over his head and he was under.

He didn’t need to breathe; he couldn’t breathe. His wet clothing clung to his form and weighed him, pulling him deeper down. Panic gripped him but he kept his mouth closed, his eyes open, determined to see this through to the end.

Down he sank, down into the deep, the dark. It was like he’d never left the Empty after all, and for a moment he wondered if this had been a trick, but the pressure of the water closing in on him was too real. It pushed at him, bringing his being together and compressing his multidimensions into a compact ball.

Down he sank but as he sank he was rising, rising towards the light. The light spread across his awareness, the pressure pushing him forwards.

He broke through the waterline, and bright, white light enveloped him.

****************

Castiel heard the singing of birds. He felt the warmth of the sun and the gentle caress of the wind on his face. He smelled the damp earth below him.

Earth.

Castiel opened his eyes to the sight of sun-kissed grass. He smiled.

It was a new day. (He was reborn.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes: For those who might be suffering from panic attacks, you’re not alone. Here are some resources for those who might need them:  
> [Panic attacks: How do I stop them?](https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/290177.php)  
> [How-do-you-feel: Panicked](https://thiswayup.org.au/how-do-you-feel/panicked/)


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